


The Mirrored Reflection That Brings You Home

by MermaidProbs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Drama, Epic Length Fic WIP, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Pack Bonding, Porn With Plot, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slash, Soulmates, Things take a pretty shitty turn between 5th and 6th Year, Trigger Warnings at the beginnings of chapters, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Werewolves, will add more tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidProbs/pseuds/MermaidProbs
Summary: Purebloods have a reason to worry about the destruction of their ways - so many things they keep secret, in an attempt to protect things from becoming ruined or sullied. Funny, how the secrets you try to keep are the very ones that will bring your world to its knees.ORThe world is black and white and it is only when you meet your soul mate that it explodes into violent color. Such things are almost never talked about anymore, laughed off as fairytale and myth in the modern age. So, it's a complete surprise to two unsuspecting little boys who meet for the first time to get their robes measured for their first year in magic school when their grayscale world erupts into color. Unfortunately, for little boys, grown-ups feel they know what's best.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Not a complete reworking of the Harry Potter series, but enough of a change. Some situations will be referenced from the books, some situations changed completely, but all through this lens. This started out as a Tumblr RP, which was then abandoned twice, so not *all* of the headcanons are mine, but I'm trying to keep what's *not* mine to a minimum out of respect for my former writing partner.

**Prologue -**

> _People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants..._
> 
> _\- Elizabeth Gilbert_

This story, like love, is messy. It's not a straight line between point A and point B. It might have been - if the two involved had been allowed to just **be**. But even in the mortal world, adults think they know what's best for the children they're trying to protect. Add magic, old blood feuds, love scorned, and a whole lot of puritanical blood purity bullshit...well. Let's just say that the two blessed souls that find each other are in for a ride.

How do I know?

I was one of them. My name is Draco Malfoy. This story _has_ a happy ending, considering everything it takes to get to that point. But it certainly **isn't** a happy story.


	2. Chapter 1 - We Were Just Two Boys; who knew one meeting would change the face of the world

> _The world is grey. For most; for some...it's...much more...-laughs-...complicated. I almost remember what it used to be like. Sometimes I even wish I could go back to it. It's inconvenient, really, to have a soulmate. For any young witch or wizard...or what is it they call themselves now...-snapping fingers-...wix? I try and stay current with the times, but really, my classist upbringing is hard enough to keep in check trying to remember that children these days are throwing around new terms for identity, sexuality, gender...anyway._
> 
> _For any young wix out there dreaming about finding your soulmate...stop. It's much more trouble than it's worth. There were times Harry would know my feelings before I did. Even the sense of impending danger as your world gets more and more vibrant because you know that the one stupid arsehole that everyone is trying to murder is making his way toward you behind enemy ranks. Thankfully these are far more peaceful times, but sometimes you just wish to wallow in your thoughts without having to discuss them...I digress._
> 
> _There are benefits. It's a coveted guarded fact that the best potion masters are soulbound. We have to be...in order to see the color changes of potions and brews._
> 
> _Do I regret it?_
> 
> _There were times in the war I thought I did. When I knew he was coming for me. It gave me traitorous hope and ineffable fear to know it. I regretted ever having seen him in that shop. My mother wanted me to go to Beauxbatons, you see..._
> 
> -Draco Malfoy  
> Radio MBBC2  
> On the subject of soulmates, July 2019

* * *

_**August 1991** _

* * *

On the corner of Thornbush Lane and Diagon Alley sits a little shop that for most of the year doesn't see much business outside of special occasions and some more complicated tailoring that cannot be done by most wizards and witches at home. But, during August, without fail, it's one of the most bustling businesses on the row, especially sitting next to many other "school supplies" shops. Which is why, at first glance, it's entirely surprising that one Narcissa Malfoy, along with her son Draco, seem to be the lone patrons while the chaos of the street outside is a cacophony of noise and energy. Surprising, until you see the sign sitting in the window that clearly says "Closed" and realize that the Malfoys are in fact wealthy enough to buy out the shop for the day so that Narcissa, who seems to be nursing a hell of a migraine, can get some damn peace and quiet.

In hindsight, she should have known the omen as it approached. She had always had good marks in divinations.

Madam Malkin's usually did not cater to such requests, but it was the pinched expression of a mother at her wits end and enough gallons that made up the shops normal profits for the week that led the elderly woman's eyes to scan the streets suspiciously and usher the two in turning the sign to closed behind them.

"I'm entirely surprised, Mrs. Malfoy, that you did not have a custom tailor into your home to do this, not that I'm complaining about your most generous patronage," Malkin suggested, speaking around pins held in her mouth as she fussed over the towheaded child who did his utmost best to stay still. But...there was only so much an 11-year-old energy could take, which was evident as Draco began to sway side to side, enjoying how the dark fabric swirled around him slightly. It took a sharp tug from the woman attending to him to bring him back to attention.

Narcissa sighed, setting down the cup of calming tea that the shop owner had made her. There was a little known fact that the reason why Narcissa was only seen at the most elite of events these days was because the first War had made her quite agoraphobic. Crowds made her uneasy, since the first trials after the Dark Lords fall, when the public, understandably, was upset and clamored for justice. Thankfully the Malfoys were only on the fringe of that business, their associations mostly unknown. Still, it had taken a toll on the matron. "Lucius had suggested it. But he never had the pleasure and excitement of a _real_ English school start, and I couldn't deny my only child that," she said with a kind smile to Draco, who returned the smile back. "I do appreciate your consideration to close your shop. I just needed a time to sit and gather my energy."

Malkin tisked, brushing the gratitude off. "The Blacks have been with me for ages. I remember fitting you for your own school robes. I don't mind returning the kindness."

"You got your robes here too, momma?" Draco asked, the more casual moniker slipping from his lips before he remembered they _were_ in public, and he was supposed to act accordingly. Draco's posture straightened, and schooled his facial features into something more neutral. He would make his father proud.

"Indeed I did, a very long time ago. I still have my old robes in storage. Maybe when we get home I'll show you, though they are now several decades out of fashion," she replied, laughing a little to herself. Narcissa cleared her throat. "Would you mind watching him just a moment? I'd like to pop off to the loo for just a moment..." Malkin waved her away, and for a moment Draco and the ancient tailor were alone. In his posture, one could see Draco was trying his best to be properly in charge of his body and emotions, and it lasted all of 12 seconds before the distraction of the bell on the door ringing took his attention.

Attention-getting was an underrated descriptor of what was the complete upheaval of Draco's world. The first thing that Draco noticed was his eyes. The boy, swathed in shades of gray that were now awash with seeping color, had the most piercing eyes that Draco had ever seen, and the young Malfoy didn't have the right words to describe their **color**.

"I...um..." The raven-haired boy looked around as though he stepped into a different world, and really, ever since Hagrid had shown up in that hut on the cliffs, he _had_. Poor Harry, however, not understanding much of the world outside of his little cupboard under the stairs and that soulmates effected both wizarding and muggle world, naturally assumed this was just another "magic" thing, seeing vibrant shades of blue and red and yellow. "Pardon, but...um," the boy cleared his throat as Madame Malkin's surprised expression looked over the blond boy in front of her, "I need..." Harry shifted his weight as he looked at the parchment in front of him, holding the list of supplies, "some...robes?"

"For Hogwarts, dear?" Malkin asked, and the boy looked up and nodded. Draco, whose voice had been caught in his throat since Harry had walked in, beamed. He could make a friend before even getting there... "I'm sorry, but we're closed for the day..."  
  
Draco, panicking a moment, found his voice quickly if a little squeakily. "No no no, he can stay," the little boy pleaded. "It's just robes! I'm getting fitted too," he explained, throwing his arms out from his body as swaths of cloth hung limply past his hands. "My mother won't mind," he assured and put on his best pleading eyes. The shop owner seemed to consider this a moment, and seeing that nobody was following the boy inside to disturb the calm of the shop, instructed Harry to take a dais beside Draco. Narcissa rejoined, and besides a quirked eyebrow, said nothing.

Unfortunately, what followed was _not_ Draco's most shining of moments, as he tried to impress the newcomer with how much he knew about quidditch, his confidence into being sorted into Slytherin, (both of which poor Harry had no clue about), along with his learned biases against muggle-borns and even Hagrid himself. His excitement took up most of the conversation, the shy Harry in a brand new world seeming content to listen (even if it put him off a bit) and only interject a little bit before the Malfoys were ready to go and continue on their shopping journey.

Fortunately, fate was on Draco's side even as he buggered up that beginning conversation. But neither boy would understand that until much later...

It was after leaving the shop that Narcissa understood why, exactly, her migraine had some in the first place. Draco had the best of upbringings being from pure-blood society, and Narcissa hardly ever had trouble keeping him in line in public. Really, Draco had been a dream to raise so far. It only took her three minutes of Draco's distraction with the outside for her to ask what was wrong. She felt a pit of dread in her core when her only child, the angel of her world, looked up at her and gasped, "Your eyes...they're so..."

"So what, Draco?"

"Blue...I think. The word I want is blue," he said, with some definition, as though he was making a royal proclamation.

It took Narcissa a moment before she spoke. "You...can see the color of my eyes?"

Draco nodded. "They're not as pretty as the boy's, but that's ok, you're pretty all over."

"What boy?" she asked in a rush, crouching down to grip her son's shoulders, although it was more to steady herself that it was to steady him.

Confused, Draco pouted and pointed back the way they came. "The...boy in the shop."

It was a fairytale. A myth. But that didn't stop Narcissa from grabbing her son's hand and dragging him swiftly back to the shop. When they got there, Draco complaining, and Narcissa out of breath, the boy was gone. "Who..." she looked around for Malkin, cornering her without meaning to, "who was that boy!"

"I...it was young Mr. Potter, Mrs. Malfoy," she responded, quite confused. "Harry Potter."

Narcissa's gaze went back to Draco, her whole world zeroing in. Fate was a bitch.

* * *

Draco’s first year was filled with things he was told he couldn’t do, which didn’t seem to make any sense to him. He couldn’t tell people he saw colors. He couldn’t give away that he knew who Harry Potter was - even though he didn’t really, he was just some boy in a shop! He couldn’t draw attention to himself that he was special.

But he _was_ special. And the hardest thing for Draco to grip was exactly why he couldn’t tell people why he was special. That was supposed to be a good thing after all.

In the end, it was Severus that had helped put it into perspective. Narcissa had contacted Draco’s godfather when they had gotten back to the manor in a panic. Of course, panic for the well-bred pure-blood consisted of a slightly rapid tempo to her speech, and a quickened breath that to the untrained eye was indetectable.

Severus, on his part, had sat down with Dumbledore to discuss the issue. He trusted the man, and there was another child at stake here - Harry Potter. But, according to the Headmaster, Hagrid had not mentioned anything out of the ordinary, which meant that Severus had some devastating news to break. Facts that he was all too familiar with when concerning the Potters.

It was a week before school, over afternoon tea, that Severus broached the subject with Draco.

“Sometimes, Draco, people can find their soulmate...but...something goes wrong,” he began, trying to find the best way to explain complicated concepts like unrequited love to an 11-year-old.

Steely blue eyes turned up to his godfather, curiosity was written all over his face. “Like what?”

“Well,” the adult began carefully, “soulmates come in all types. Sometimes they’re romantic, like how your mother and father are romantic…”

“But my mother can’t see colors,” Draco supplied.

“No, it’s very rare, but people can fall in love with even if they’re not soulmates. Like your mother and father. And sometimes you don’t fall in love with your soulmate; sometimes it can be one-sided. So, while you have found your them...they’re not the one you’re supposed to be with, so they don’t see the colors as you do.”

However, Draco was a clever child, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Then, if they don’t see colors, how can they be your soulmate? Mother said that it happens when a soul is split in half and put in two bodies and that they see colors when the souls meet and become one.”

“It’s part of the mythology surrounding soulmates, Draco. It can be one-sided. I…” Severus sighed and neutralized his expression. “I can see colors. I found my soulmate. But I wasn’t hers. We were friends...for a time. But eventually she...found someone she fell in love with and married him. We were just friends.”

“So...you can be soulmates with a friend? I can still be his friend?” Draco asked.

Snape looked down. If only it were that simple. “Regardless of what is to come, Draco, I encourage you to always make friends. And having a friend like Harry Potter can be very powerful.”

“Because he took down the Dark Lord when he was just a baby,” Draco suggested, a little enthusiastic. “That’s powerful!”

“It is,” Severus agreed. “It also means that Mr. Potter has quite a few enemies, and it’s important that above all you keep yourself safe.”

Draco looked down into his tea, turning all of this new information in his head. He could understand where his godfather was coming from, but really, all that was sticking was that his new friend Harry Potter had hidden enemies, and had to be protected. Enigmatically, the blond simply nodded.

It would not be that simple, however. Draco had _tried_ to make friends with Harry and had tried to warn him that the likes of Ron Weasley would not help him. The Weasleys were a laughing stock in the wizarding world; blood traitors that were too poor to help anyone, much less Harry. It didn’t go quite according to plan.

The second strike against him that night, or perhaps it was the first since it was Ron who had told Harry that only dark wizards went to Slytherin, was when Harry was sorted into Gryffindor of all houses. They were the most reckless house, and didn’t understand the first thing about loyalty and power! It was what Draco mulled on as he sat in his new dorm room that night, trying to figure out how to make this plan work.

Draco wasn’t the only one having a hard time. While Severus had been transparent about his intentions with his godson, the Headmaster had not been entirely transparent in return. After everything had been settled and the night was winding down, Albus had asked Minerva to escort Harry to his office in order to speak with him about the upcoming year. It was sitting on the other side of the desk that the option for any of this to come out and see the light of day and be cleared up was squashed. Because although the Malfoys had kept their involvement with Voldemort quiet, Dumbledore knew better.

“Are you seeing colors, my boy?” Albus asked gently.

For a moment, Harry was silent, looking down at his tan hands. The Headmaster’s question meant that this wasn’t normal...that even though he had found his people...he was...he was…

The harsh words of his aunt echoed in his head. _Freak_ . He just _got_ here. He wasn’t going to screw it up already. “No, sir. I mean...not that I can see. Is it a problem if I did?”

“Much like the light and dark in the grey we see, there are multiple sides to seeing color. It could mean that you’ve found a powerful ally, if you know who it was that triggered it,” Dumbledore suggested. It could be Harry wasn’t even aware of who it was. Harry thought about the poncy blond, rude to his very first friend, and rude again to his second. That didn’t seem like an ally. Just the opposite. “There are many myths and folktales about people falling in love at first sight, finding their soulmate, and their worlds rich with vibrant colors because of it. It’s very powerful magic. Soulmates...they are a reflection of each other.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed trying to understand. He didn’t want to be a reflection of Malfoy. Malfoy seemed mean. “But it also can be a weakness, and someone’s soulmate could be used against them for terrible evil.”

Harry thought about what this meant. Not a month ago, he thought his parents had died in a normal, muggle car crash. And now he was in a whole magical world, some powerful dark wizard had killed them before Harry had a chance to even remember them, and now there was a kind old man saying “special” people could see color and sometimes that could be a bad thing. He just wanted to have friends, and go to school, and forget about the Dursleys.

“No, sir,” Harry said with resolve, strong. “I’m afraid someone is mistaken. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

For a long time the old man simply nodded, saying nothing. When he did speak, it was through a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad to see you are already feeling adjusted. I know the last several weeks have been a big shock, and I apologize for my part in your lack of knowledge. Please make your way back to your dorm. You have classes in the morning,” he replied, his tone comforting. It was for the best. Harry needed light and strength on his side, and while the cunning Malfoy was already exhibiting could benefit him, Dumbledore felt that could go wrong in too many ways. This was the safest option.

So, for the next couple of years, Draco and Harry carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. They didn’t tell any of their friends that they had found their soulmates, that they could see colors in all their vibrancy. As giddy girls sighed over the romantic notion of soulmates, and finding them someday, both boys wallowed in the truth of it. Sometimes finding your soulmate sucked. One-sided. Or dangerous.

But the thing about fate is it doesn’t much like to be denied. So as the boys grew and matured, so too did their bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOF! That's it for the initial setup/introduction. Next chapter we get to get into some real meat of what's going on with our boys.
> 
> Your kudos, already, are inspiring me. Feel free to comment; I'll try to answer them as I have time. I think I'm going to try and upload every week? But we'll see, it could be more. You never know how creativity strikes, right?


	3. Chapter 2 - You Can't Always Get What You Want; but sometimes you get what you need

> _Come seek us where our voices sound,  
>  We cannot sing above the ground,  
> And while you're searching ponder this;  
> We've taken what you'll **soully** miss,  
> An hour long you'll have to look,  
> And to recover what we took,  
> But past an hour, the prospect's black,  
> Too late, it's gone, it won't come back. _

* * *

_**February 1995** _

* * *

Looking back, the Tri-Wizard Tournament was not something that Draco felt particularly excited or happy about. When Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had joined the Welcoming Feast, the week or so into the school year had been a buzz of activity, which had been a relief. The blond even found himself laughing and smiling more with the addition of new faces and exciting new energy. The beginning of the year had enough overstimulation from three times the students sharing their classes, eating meals with them, and the buzz over the puzzles of the tasks, to take Draco’s mind off his dilemma - Draco was cursed. To be different. To see color and to not be loved by the person who made him see color. Stupid Potter. With his stupid, brilliant green eyes. Even so, the first half of the year Draco had been happy and carefree, feeling the most normal he had in a while.

It didn’t take long for the roller coaster to turn, however. That blasted cup, that stupid boy, had ruined his year. Harry wasn’t even of age! But nooooo. Of course Potter, the apple of the Headmaster’s eye, had to break all the rules and find a way round it. It wouldn’t be nearly so vexing if it wasn’t a fact that the Tri-Wizard Tournament was _dangerous_ . Students had been hurt quite badly in the past. Draco had read about it in the library, and his mother had mentioned it from years past in the morning mail, cautioning Draco to stay as far away from the tournament as possible. There were whispers that some students had _died_ before. That Horntail had nearly given Draco a heart attack when he saw it. Pansy had thought he had just eaten something off at breakfast when he went silent and his fair complexion sheeting white as a ghost. Vomiting from relief as soon as Harry held up that egg had only helped the story of bad meat, not that the house-elves ever served anything off before.

Since then, Draco’s mood had only grown dourer. Part of the issue was that he had no way to blow off stress and steam; quidditch had been canceled. Running the estate doing ground drills only worked off so much energy. His constantly short temper had resulted in spending most of his time alone, either in the library to keep away from others or his friends keeping their distance for fear of setting him off. That was where Snape had found him, asking the 15-year-old boy to accompany him to his office. The last thing Draco could remember was being asked to drink a potion and not ask too many questions. Had it been anyone other than his godfather, he would be suspicious, and in hindsight, would lead Draco to question the man’s motives more than once in the future.

Now, he could feel something very solid and uncomfortable under his back. And he was very…cold. And wet? Why was he wet? At the soft smack to his face, Draco’s brows furrowed and his eyes opened. He was blinded by the rich white sunlight as someone’s blurry face was whisked from his view, Flur having pulled Potter into a tight embrace, hysterically speaking half-English, half-French as she kissed his cheeks and, as Draco half-caught in the strange state of just being awoken, thanked him for saving her sister. Looking around Draco saw the unhappy faces of Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall and the tightly controlled expression of Snape concerned as they looked to the children at the end of the dock, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones that Draco couldn’t make out over the din of the crowd cheering. Hermione and Ron stood close by, the Granger girl wrapped up in a towel, her normal brown, bushy hair drenched and what Draco could only describe as a murderous expression on Weasley’s freckled face.

Between the crowd, the looks, the French girl speaking hysterically…Draco certainly feeling as though he missed out on something very important. Because being the punchline to some very un-funny joke wasn’t his cup of tea, the blond had had enough. He pushed himself to his feet, wrenching the towel from his shoulders and throwing it at Colin Creevey’s camera, covering the Gryffindor and the device just as the flash went off, and trudged as quickly and angrily as he could from the scene.

The movement of the towel mid-air caught Harry’s attention, and he turned at the familiar ebb of colors. As Draco walked further and further away, the colors of the world began to dull around the edges. No...he...he had to make sure Draco was okay. If he could just...get…

As he removed himself from the hub-bub of the dock, he ran into Hermione. Harry’s face fell into an apologetic grimace. “I...I tried to get you. At first I thought it was you I was supposed to get, but they wouldn’t let me…”

“It’s okay, Harry. Anyway, the professors would never have let us come into any real harm,” she explained, although Harry wasn’t so sure. He was still polishing singe marks from his broom bristles. “Where did Draco go? What are you going to tell him?” While Harry hadn’t come out and spoken to Hermione about the bond, he had a feeling she knew what was going on; at least partially. His friend was what he used as a filter of “showing too much interest,” although it was harder this year - she seemed to be keeping her questions to a minimum, and those were Harry’s barometer that he had to cool it on the “Malfoy thing.”

Harry walked backward, keeping his focus on Hermione as he tried to walk away and continue the conversation at the same time; stuck between two worlds. He could guess and check where Draco had gone, following the colors. “I haven’t the foggiest idea where to even start,” he began, before running into something very solid behind him. Turning around, it was Colin.

“Smile, Harry!” he commanded, as a bright flash made Harry blind for a moment.

Great. That was going to make this search so much easier. “Sorry, Colin. I was just trying to catch up with Malfoy, make sure he’s alright.”

“Malfoy?” Colin asked, turning his head to the side. “He took off toward the quidditch pitch,” the younger boy explained, pointing to the east.

“Thanks,” Harry said with a sigh, wondering why the blond chose there. Harry had just braced himself to run after him when Hermione calling his name got his attention. What now?

“Your robes,” she said, tossing a ball of cloth toward the boy. Harry caught it deftly, smiling thanks before turning and running toward the pitch. Behind him, Hermione turned to the other best friend, Ron’s expression sour and mulish. “What’s your problem then? I’m the one covered in lake muck!” she demanded, pushing the ginger boy playfully.

“First off,” Ron started (oh and when Ron started…) “What in the bloody hell gives anyone the right to put you down there for Krum to save? Why couldn’t they have gotten one of his friends, huh?” he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, stalking back toward the judges. “And second off, what is the thing with Malfoy? Didn’t the egg say something about something he’d miss? Pretty sure Harry’d miss his broom before missing Malfoy’s ugly mug,” he muttered.

“Oh Ron. You can be so dense sometimes,” Hermione sighed, wringing lake water out of her hair.

As Harry chased after Malfoy, the colors around him began to bleed back into view. In a way...he would always look forward to the experience. Especially around the holidays when Malfoy went off with his family, and Harry either stayed at Hogwarts or went off with his own makeshift family. Or returned to the Dursleys. Back in Surry was when Harry pined over the colors the most. They made him feel like Hogwarts, his friends, everything, wasn’t just some lovely dream he was going to wake from. But when the time would come that he and Draco traveled back to the same place, the world of grey bled into color and something deep down in him that he was okay. That Draco was okay. That they were safe.

It was one thing to understand at 11 that he had a soulmate. It was an entirely different thing to come to grips with the idea that he might actually care for him at 14...might...have... _those_ kinds of feelings. That he thought about what it would be like to touch Malfoy, even just a hug. Half the reason their duels erupted into something physical was that Harry just wanted to touch the other boy. The colors were so vivid when he touched Malfoy...what would they be like if…

Spotting Draco’s damp head, Harry watched as the other trudged into the small outcropping building that held the locker rooms. As he jogged to follow, there was something eerie about the pitch. The students had been given specific instructions to avoid the pitch and Harry could see why now. Long vines twisted around each other in a huge complicated mess, the bare branches stark against the fog that enveloped anything that was further into the pitch. Harry shook the feeling that something was watching him as he entered the locker rooms, the sounds of water hitting tile echoing through the small space. “M...Malfoy?” Harry called, hoping like _hell_ the other boy was dressed.

Steam surrounded Draco as his mind turned over and over, tangents falling onto each other, forming a big ball of overthinking and anxiety. For as long as he could remember, he had been taught to school his expression. As a child, he had memories of his mother chiding him for wearing his emotions on his face, and with his father so deeply embedded in politics (and to a lesser obvious degree, dark politics) keeping the “Malfoy Mask” had been something trained into him. Cool, aloof, and detached. Manners, etiquette, and poise. There were times Draco’s treacherous mind wondered what it would be like to be a muggle and completely…anonymous. But the blond supposed that even muggles had high-profile society families, like the Malfoys.

Even with the ability to detach within his skill set, there were times Draco felt overwhelmed, and it most assuredly came when he felt he was the butt of a joke, or when he felt judged for not having all of the proper information. His godfather, Severus, was the one most able to inspire the latter; second only to his father, of course. Waking up covered in lake muck surrounded by people with professors he respected (and some he didn’t) looking down on him as if they had more information than he had…it had been too much. The Slytherin Commons would be off-limits until he could come up with some kind of plausible explanation of why he was in that lake, and why it was _Potter_ that fetched him - like Draco was some damsel in distress…

Fuck. His father would get wind of this surely, and that was _not_ a good position to be in.

Why hadn’t it been the male Weasel in that lake? He was Potter’s best mate. Maybe they were fighting again. Draco had seen that happen a time or two, subtly watching from the Great Hall or shared classes. Maybe Weaselbe was allergic to the lake water? Scared of the giant squid? He was sure he had seen the Weasel coughing this week. He was obviously too sick to participate… Why hadn’t it been the girl Weasley? She mooned after Harry.

Draco sighed, his hands reaching up to pull sopping hair from his face. Maybe it was best to put the focus on Potter. Why would Potter see Malfoy the worthy prize? A humorless laugh that was half sob tore from Draco’s throat as a plausibly ridiculous cover came to him. Obviously the prat was in love with him. The thought alone was so painful and laughable it might actually pass if Draco could pull off saying it without breaking.

As Draco shed his outer most robes, the weighed down wool released a physical burden from Draco’s shoulders, but not the emotional one. It was probably best to comment as little as possible on the situation; the best lies were half-truths. Draco dropped the sopping robes to the side deciding that if anyone questioned him about the Tournament he would just respond that he had no idea what Potter’s issues were and it was best to ask him. It would work for almost anyone here in Hogwarts. 

But it wasn’t going to fly with his father.

Pulling his shirt over his head he deposited it with the discarded outer robes on the bench in front of him. The tiles in the locker room, spelled green from the last match between the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs last year, began to deepen in color, becoming richer. It could only mean that Potter was around. 

Draco had been half-way enchanted by the phenomenon of how the colors became more vibrant in his younger years. Half the reason he followed the Golden Trio around was experimenting with how his surroundings would change based on his proximity to his soulmate. Now…he was beginning to resent the whole thing. Especially when he had come to abandoned locker rooms to brood. Fuck, he missed quidditch. He missed flying.

Parking his butt on the bench, Draco scrubbed his face, keeping quiet in the hopes that maybe Harry was just passing by; although that wouldn’t make any sense. The pitch was off-limits due to the magical maze being grown for the final task. They weren’t supposed to know about it of course, but that never stopped Draco (or Potter for that matter) before.

Draco heaved a heavy sigh, thoughts straying to his wet pants and squishy shoes. He was a wizard, he could spell them dry (though cleaning and drying spells weren’t quite as effective as the castle house-elves washing their clothing) but something satisfied his sour attitude by brooding in wet clothing. When he heard Potter’s voice he rested his head back against the lockers, not providing an answer.

That was how Harry found him; half-dressed, sitting morosely on a bench in the quidditch locker room, wet and smelling of murk as eyes rolled his way, expression annoyed and terse. “Ever consider that maybe someone goes to an abandoned locker room to get away from people, Potter? Or are you really so dense the thought didn’t occur to you?”

The brunette wrapped his arms around his torso, shrinking a bit as he shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you’re ok.” It felt like Harry’s tongue had turned to cotton in his mouth.

“Right, because you’re just so magnanimous,” Draco glowered in a reply. “Golden Boy Potter, Chosen One, with all the kindness and grace. Better check on the half-drowned damsel in distress…”

Harry’s bark of short laughter interrupted Draco’s monologue beginning. “You’re not a damsel in distress,” he assured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the thought of it.

“Fucking right, I’m not,” Draco shot back, ice blue eyes shooting daggers at Harry. “So, whoever you have wrapped around your finger to do your bidding, putting me in lakes…”

“Draco,” Harry started, shaking his head, his expression turning sullen and guilty. He set his balled up robes on the bench, the chill of Scotland’s February beginning to ebb with the warm humidity of the room.

“Because when my father, on the board of governors, hears about the treatment of students…” The blond stood, his stance threatening and voice hardening. Draco was trapped in a corner, and intimate space, his vulnerability beginning to peek through the seams.

“...I didn’t…” Harry tried to get a word in, his arms unfolding from around himself. An open posture.

“WHY ME!” Draco’s voice cracked as he demanded it, and the weakness of it was shameful. As Harry took a step back from the strength of Draco’s conviction, Draco closed his eyes and turned his face upward, as if asking Heaven for fortitude. The next time he spoke, it came in a whisper; tight and controlled. “It doesn’t matter.” Turning, the blond’s hands fell to the waist of his pants, undoing the buttons. The showers were already on. He wasn’t going to waste another moment with lake crud in his hair.

Harry’s eyes followed the blond’s hands, even though Draco was facing away from him, and it took the other boy a little longer than he’d care to admit to kick his brain into gear and do the appropriate thing and turn around. Not...that there was anything to be ashamed of. They _were_ in a locker room. He changed with his schoolmates here frequently. Or in the dorms. But the fact that blood began rising to Harry’s cheeks as the familiar sound of undressing...and _knowing_ who was undressing behind him...puberty sucked.

“I’m _fine_ , Potter,” a voice came from behind him, slightly echoed. Draco must have entered the showers. “Go back to your common room and celebrate with your friends. You saved the day. Again.” There was something antagonistic in Draco’s tone.

It pulled at Harry in ways that he couldn’t explain. “Look, Malfoy, I didn’t ask for you to be put in that lake. I was just as surprised as you were, okay?”

“I highly doubt anyone can be as surprised as I was. Last thing I knew I was drinking a potion,” the response came from within the steamed room.

“And you didn’t stop to think why someone was giving you a potion?” Harry shot back, disbelief clear in his voice. He turned back around now that he was sure Malfoy’s...bits...were...unobservable.

It was silent save for the shower for a minute, and then a wet sound echoed that Harry couldn’t place. What he couldn’t see was that Draco had hit the wall with his fist, the water against tile slapping with a sharp sound. Composure. He was trained for this. “No. There are few people I trust in this world.” The words that he would need to reassess who it was that he trusted were left unspoken.

Harry stood in the green swathed locker room, trying to figure out how to respond to that. The only thing that came to mind was of course sounded the most stupid as the words left his lips. “You can trust me.” Harry’s heartbeat faster than a frightened bird. He could feel it in his throat, and he was finding it difficult to breathe in the humid room.

“You know who my father is,” came the reply as though it explained everything.

And in a way it did. They were on opposite sides of the invisible war that almost nobody knew was being waged. But Malfoy _did_ know. Else he wouldn’t have said it. And for a moment Harry tried to see it from the other side. He had Hermione and Ron, and they had seen him through so much. Had literally sacrificed themselves the first year going after Quirrell. Who did Draco have?

Harry’s feet took him to the threshold of the showers, trainers squeaking and squishing as he walked. But he didn’t enter. “You can trust me,” he repeated, his voice a little weaker.

“Then answer my question.”

Harry’s eyes soft-focused on the middle field as he went back through the conversation trying to figure out what Draco was asking. “I...um...can you...”

A long-suffering sigh came over the sound of the water. “Why me?”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah. That.”

Harry pulled at the neckline of his swimsuit. “Uh...well...you see…” He couldn’t figure out how to explain it. Dumbledore had told his specifically not to mention he could see colors. That it was dangerous. “The mermaids...the task was for them to guard something important.”

“Which explains why Granger might be down there for you to grab, but she wasn’t down there for you. So, why me over the Weasle?” Draco hedged.

“Don’t...just,” Harry groaned in frustration. “It would be far easier to admit that I like you if you stopped insulting my friends, you know?”

Draco leaned his head against the tile, letting the water rush down his back as he tried to wrap his head around what Harry just said. “I tried to be your friend first year.” It was a weak comeback, but it was all that he had.

Harry’s voice drifted into the room, although he stayed staunchly on the threshold. “Yeah, and you were a right prick about that, weren’t you?” It was silent for a moment, and then Draco could hear what could only be described as the rubber from a trainer scuffing against the wet tile. It was annoying. “Be…” Harry cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was a little deeper, more resolved. “Besides, that’s...not what I meant. A...About liking. You.”

Draco’s eyes popped open as he tried to breathe around that revelation. That...didn’t make any sense. His bond was broken because Harry didn’t have it too. Or...maybe it was broken because Harry didn’t have it, but that didn’t mean Harry couldn’t feel _anything_ …

With bated breath, Harry waited for any kind of response from Draco, and he was giving up hope of getting one when Draco finally said, “That still doesn’t explain how I am going to explain this to my father. “Because Potter has a crush on me” is probably the worst I could say, for both me and you.”

Alright. It wasn’t a rejection...per se. It wasn’t an admission of feeling...well...anything either. Harry felt like he was in a weird sort of limbo. “Go back to your common room, Potter,” Draco said again, his voice tired. “They’re going to question where you are, and any...gossip about you and me that isn’t us fighting will get you killed. We’ll…” another sigh came as Draco carefully, soundlessly, sat on the tile, his head in his hands. “We’ll talk about this when you’re not covered in lake muck, and I’m not naked in a shower.”

Harry’s posture brightened, and he nodded his head a moment before realizing Draco couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, we’ll...we’ll talk later. I’ll just...um…” the brunette looked around, picking up his robes. “I’ll get going then. Um...see you...I guess.”

Draco waited until he couldn’t hear the squeak of trainers on tile, and the colors fade from his shaking hands before he broke down and cried. How was it that he got what he wanted and still lost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made a tumblog; feel free to find/follow me at amermaidnamedelliot.tumblr.com
> 
> I will remind that I'm a pretty angsty/action-oriented writer but worry not. While our boys do get put through their paces, they do get happy moments too. Those are coming!
> 
> Your kudos and comments give me life, especially on tough days like today (it was a journey to take my car to the shop to get serviced).


End file.
